Ursidae
by Nerumi H
Summary: They were never princes, not truly. /In which the remaining DunBroch brothers leave their falling country, and become the thieves who haunt Corona.


.title.: **Ursidae**

.summary.: **In which the remaining DunBroch brothers leave their falling country, and become the thieves who haunt Corona.**

.universe.: **Brave & Tangled, fused.**

.a/n.: **This is for a headcanon by deaniethebeanie on tumblr. It floated up in discussion during a movie livestream and I had to try it out...**

**Creative title, I know.**

**X**

They never really forgot about what had been known between them and their sister as the "fur incident (that-was-totally-not-Merida's-fault-in-the-slight est)."

Even later on, when they were older (a special placement in youth that had Merida slamming doors in their faces and ranting about how much _more_ annoying they were), the triplets always wondered if there was still a little bit of bear in them. It started out as a fun idea. What if they had big bear fangs? What if they could climb to the tallest trees with big bear claws? And if they had a bear's sense of smell, perfect for hunting out goodies? How fun those ideas seemed at the time, perfect for the imagination of three wild young boys with too much time on their hands since none of the responsibility of Dunbroch fell onto them.

Childish fascinations like that were lost on the day the founder of the story died.

It is not a day they dare to look back on – losing their sister carved out slivers of what remained of them, piece by piece, until all the misery piled up with what their parents no longer were and a fire was set. They saw Merida everywhere in themselves, and now instead of curiously hunting for bear traits they prayed that nothing would ever remind them of that day again – or any day after that. Merida was their courage, their cleverness, their powerful ties with family.

Hubert called all of that an _excuse_ for what they did.

What defined an excuse, especially of this degree? What made it their fault, and what made it the Fate's? Excuse though it may have been, only one brother went back to the kingdom to right what they'd all done wrong. He was crowned king instead of forgiven.

Sickness took Elinor, blades took Fergus, and on the fringes of a kingdom, two last brothers mourned. Alone their brother ruled, and although they were allowed in and out of the castle as they pleased (as traitorous and cowardly as it was, the blood that ran in their veins was still royal), the rift between them and Hubert was uncomfortable, deep, and so clean cut it hurt more than if they had broken into pieces – it was so easy to get rid of one part of the trio, as if once he stepped out of their vision, he did not matter anymore. His copy was always around, anyways, and threes instigated the appearance of neutral parties. They couldn't have that for what they were going to do.

Across the sea was the plan. If their lost brother would lend them a boat, then they would be gone from the cursed kingdom that they'd abandoned, far from the rotting corpses of their mother, father, and dearest sister. Far from the scratch marks on the furniture from when they had claws. To recommence, that was what they were asking for. They were never princes, not truly.

Hubert gave in and let them have a masterfully crafted boat with high strong sails and a menacing figurehead, and it was with thanks that should not have been so awkward that the two others left for another shore. They cut their hair until the curls were concealed and sprawled out in the sun on that long trip, watching the sea go by, moving so fast yet not moving at all, catching birds for fun and seeing the most magnificent creatures they had laid eyes on since Mor'du. It was nice to have those memories replaced, though there were some they couldn't quite wipe out.

After a week, one brother went hunting for the whisky and found a sealed box, no label, no lock. He curiously cracked it open and found six little cakes, the ones they used to steal without cease from Maudie.

At first he thought that Hubert must have left them there as a parting gift, three for each brother, but then the image changed – six cakes, six of the family, and he noticed all were broken but one.

They had rot from their time in the musty cabin, so the boys fed them to the birds they caught.

**X**

When you live in a castle, stealing is not entirely satisfying. Things can just as easily be handed to you, if you don't want to create the trouble. Unfortunately, the twins' favourite pastime was trouble.

It started with food as usual, and then clothing, and then money to buy the food and the clothing, and then money to buy nothing at all. Nothing was to their name anymore, ever since they'd been rejected from the throne for abandoning it during the war that killed their sister, but instead of punishment, that felt like release.

Let Hubert have it all – all the ruined bits of their family: the scarred tapestry, the corpse of the bear, blistered blades. They no longer cared, not when they were freer to do what they wanted than they had ever been. More than anything, they understood Merida's mantra about changing fate.

That was one memory of her they could keep safe from nightmares.

**X**

The triplets grew up together during the ages that friends were acquired by question, and when traits of other people, much less yourself, were not recognised. They had become a working unit, three boys with no set role but they always knew what to do. Three boys called wee devils. Three boys of mischief. Three boys.

Never Hubert, Hamish, and Harris.

It was easier, then, to remove one man from the sequence, if none of them individually mattered and none could be remembered. They still worked as a pair, just as well as before. They never remembered what special addition Hubert added – Hubert did not matter.

Three turned into two, at first just to them and to the people on the new land. And then, far off in Scotland, it happened to the last brother. He was one. And one is the most fearsome number of all.

Perhaps it was his jealousy of their likeness to Merida, perhaps it was the fear of threat, perhaps it was anger that he could so easily be forgotten. But Hubert became rash, and fired up the war again between the clans, one that had begun years ago because men cannot be deterred by simple speeches in their path for a lady. He seemed to have forgotten how easily they had killed his warrior sister and prevailing father, but he must have remembered it very clearly when he lied in the field where they once played with archery, blinking away his own blood.

Later when they heard of the news, the twins would wonder why Hubert didn't go after them instead.

**X**

Stealing people was not much harder than stealing objects. You just had to know the points of interest.

It became a quick and easy way to make money – no harm was done, except perhaps a few bruises, and pay was very often concise and clean. They had no qualms about such a thing. If they did, neither said it to the other.

Words had always been scarce between them. From when they were younger and words could be exchanged through gestures, then older and they were both a deaf chorus, to now as adults where looks could convey meanings as strict as the sea but as impersonalized as ever, they never knew the other's real voice. Of course they knew the sounds, but they did not know the spirit behind them. If they ever questioned it to themselves, the only vision they could summon of their twin was one identical to them. Soul, fate, and all.

It scared each that they might be forgotten as easily as Hubert was.

Even when corners were cut too close and Hamish lost an eye while Harris gained a scar as white as maggots crawling in a row under his skin, they still felt too much the same. Too interchangeable. If they thought the same way, then one brother could do these jobs as well as two.

Harris came up with the idea, but the spark was not enough. For all he knew, Hamish was mirroring his thoughts right at that very second, so he had to work fast, and he had to work now.

He chose a noble-hearted, off-duty soldier, and gutted him in the city streets where all could see. Screams erupted before he even drove in the dagger, but as soon as he pierced through skin the world went silent. Blood splashed over his hands, a dull heat, the suck of breath a distant whistle as Harris grasped the man's throat and made sure he was looking at him, he had to see his eyes – he removed the dagger and carved again, letting the cobblestone run red with filth.

In his eyes he saw a drowning fear. As the man sunk, he broke away a piece of Harris with him, leaving the former prince drenched in blood and without the fear of a brother betraying the other.

One was broken and one was complete. One was cruel and one was the boy he used to know.

He made them leave the kingdom for fear that his brother would follow his footsteps.

It didn't take long before he did.

**X**

Their real story happened long before Flynn Rider fell into their path, ages before Gothel reminded them that mothers can be beasts without having eaten magic tarts, and eternities before their execution.

They hadn't remembered it for a while. Sitting on opposite ends of a cell, shackled into the walls, the brothers gave each other matching exhausted smirks, the same drawn expression on each face.

They could talk about what an adventure it had been, or what they wished to wake up to in their second life. They could still be mad about Flynn Rider. But instead, Hamish said: "What was it that Merida always said about fate?"

Harris glanced up, furrowing his brow. They hadn't spoken of their sister for ages, but they each remembered her as clear as day. "She hated hers."

"Nah." He actually looked a bit annoyed. He knew the correct answer, so of course Harris did too.

He gave his actual thoughts. "You can always change it."

"Think we can change it now?"

"Bit late." Their twin hollow chuckles shuddered around the cell.

Once the noise faded, Hamish slumped further against the wall, the eyepatch slipping down his temple to reveal silver scarring. "I think we did alright until now."

Harris wondered for a moment if Hamish was thinking of Hubert, because he was. Just a flicker of the last redheaded twin, buried now somewhere, as if people could tell his name apart from the other two. And then he spoke, knowing the answer before he asked: "It's not really fate if you can keep changing it, do you think?"

"I knew you'd be the one to find a hole in that theory of hers," Hamish snickered.

Harris paused. He slowly looked up, puzzled. "…You didn't?"

"…No."

They both fell completely silent in the cell as they both realised the weight of that simple idea, and what a terrible time it was to see it.

Harris said gruffly, "What'll our final fate be, then?"

Hamish jostled the shackles. "Not this."

"Can't be this."

"I won't let it."

Harris nodded with a grunt in agreement. Then as he regarded the floor, his scarred face eased with a tired smile. Of all the places to smile. Of all the places to think of this.

"What?" Hamish asked.

Harris shook his head slightly, then tossed it back against the wall to look at his brother down his nose. "We should go home."

"Why?"

He said quickly, not allowing it time to sting in his throat nor let himself forget it, "We owe our family a visit."

Dark eyes lingered on his for a long moment, and then they crinkled. And Hamish laughed, nothing like the stanch, cruel chuckle they had heard from each other for so long. A real laugh, light and regretful and spiralling through his words. "Think Maudie kept that pastry recipe somewhere?"

"That's still all you can think of," Harris responded, the fringes of his brother's laughter illuminating his mood too. "What about Merida's?"

"Being turned into bears would really help us now!" Hamish continued laughing, the sound Harris never heard before encompassing the whole cell until the walls vanished. He imagined being back on the boat in a time where he hadn't discovered confusion, watching whales and the flirting of the shore as it bobbed in and out of view. A castle on a mountain, one that was no longer burning, and a city that was no longer mourning. A tombstone marked Hubert, returned princes called Hamish and Harris.

Fate was returning home where they each belonged.


End file.
